


Vestiges

by Sorianis



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Gen, I Wish This Was Canon, Noctis must be protected at all costs, Noctis protection squad 2k18, shook!Kingsglaive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 04:27:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13333488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorianis/pseuds/Sorianis
Summary: In Galahd, scars were badges of honor.But in Insomnia, things were different. Things were always different.Libertus didn't believe that the Prince had any scars- hell that could've been extended to the entire Kingsglaive for that matter.But one day, they're proven very, very wrong





	Vestiges

**Author's Note:**

> GUESS WHOS BACK BABY
> 
> i also promise that the next one will have more Regis and Noct family fluff-
> 
> BUT UNTIL THEN.....HERE'S ME ESTABLISHING SOMETHING THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN IN THE CANON 5EVER AGO BUT WILL NOW BE IN MY CANON BECAUSE I AM A P I L L A R OF SALT
> 
> I LOVE YOU ALL

In Galahd, scars were badges of honor. 

In a culture that survived on originality and ingenuity, where its language and cultures were almost wholly dependent on the words that were passed on from elders to the toddlers in their laps, _stories_ were ingrained everywhere.

 

Stories came in the forms of their braids; whom one was married to, which family did they and their lover came from and then some. The younger ones and the peaceful adults wore headdresses filled with glass beads to tell their stories and showcase the wealth of their family lines. Those who were warriors and hunters would braid the beads into their hair, keeping them close to the scalp and safe and reminding them of their hearths and homes, and those stories ingrained into them. Even the _way_ their hair would be braided could denote status and occupation. The number of sections weaved into the extensions of their body telling expansive stories that the Lucians could never decipher.

 

Stories came in the form of the ink on their skin. Tattoos were just intentional scars for those who incorporated them into their culture. Every line, curve, and pointed edge of a tattoo, told of the men and women that bore them; what they did to earn it, colors sometimes told what age that they earned the mark, and the facial sigils that told them of their family, their heritage and so much more than what an Insomnian could understand. It told more to any passing stranger than any words could about that person's _story_.

 

Things that also had stories to them, were _scars_. Every slice, crater, pink-white-brown mark on their skin told a story that the skin artists of their culture couldn't create in the half-moments that it took for a fang, or a nail, or an enemy weapon to do. Each came with its own range of stories, from small and easily forgettable to old and deep to new and raw.

 

Each of them came with their own amounts of pain.

 

The more scars you had,  the more pain you could withstand and still survive. It was seen as a badge of strength to wield large scars from an encounter that could potentially end those who were considered _lesser_ and unworthy of survival in the harsh and unforgiving environments their bones were made in. As well as the more scars one, had showed the amount of pain they were willing to bear for their loved ones and community. The leaders who bared their battle scars and other badges of honor proudly had more respect from their people; especially when gained in service to the protection of their brothers and sisters in arms.

 

Libertus can recall the elders of their village boasting about the stories behind their scars on evenings when the sky was orange and the smell of cooking food would pervade the air. The stories would range from one who single-handedly protected her sick husband from a pair of hunting coeurls to another who had kept their hunting group from being attacked by another tribe. He remembered sitting on one of their laps as they would spend warm evenings of their village trying to peg each of their neighbors and family members and bet which would earn an eagle's eye tattoo next, or which one would be marked for protecting their village again. The bigger and more life-threatening the scars looked, the more respect you had. It would often represent sacrifices made for the greater good of their tight-knit village. He remembers him and Nyx and Pelna joking about who would get a ridiculous scar, or who would get a _badass_ one for a _stupid_ reason.

 

But when Galahd fell, those who had yet to earn anything had been unofficially, wordlessly blooded, marked as warriors in the blood of their fallen friends, livelihoods, and families. They never liked talking about the scars that were earned that day, but other ones were just fine.

 

But in Insomnia, things were different. _Things were always different._

 

They saw things differently; their entire dialect of Lucian used terrible words to describe things that Nyx and Libertus and the vast majority of the Kingsglaive saw as badges of _honor_ and indicators of their _strength_.

 

Blotches, discolorations, stains, _imperfections_. The words were terrible and would always leave a bad taste in Libertus's mouth.

 

They would try to mark them as thugs for the things they had survived, degenerates for living when the world and political landscape wanted otherwise. They would be called brave for fighting with the King's magic for a home that wasn't untamed and rougher like their urban cities were, and would also be called disrespectful for bearing a heritage that wasn't theirs and was brought with them from the outskirts of their same kingdom. All of this was done in the same breath between outsiders to the culture established within the glaive.

 

The Insomnians found things blank and empty to be beautiful; from their beauty standard of unmarked, paler skin tones to their minimalistic art. In contrast, the Kingsglaive and those from the outer, wilder portions of Lucis found beauty in the stories marked in their skins that experienced _life_ , and lived to tell the story behind it. Not just a story of a scar, per say, rather that the _scar is their story._

 

They were drunk the night they actually did it; an overwhelming scent of ozone from the training and the scent of barberries, alcohol, and pomegranates emanating from their cups when they all first bared them to each other, cementing the trust between each other with bearing such intimate parts of their bodies.

 

Nyx has grey Lichtenberg figures arcing across the tanned plane of his chest when he had been struck by a rookie in practice one day. He sees it as a trophy for facing off with the Reaper and being able to walk away from it, but Crowe bets it why he still prefers to use fire whenever he can.

 

Libertus has a white line running down the left of his cheek almost under his eye when a coeurl cub nearly mauled a baby chocobo when he was barely more than a toddler. He tries to make it sound from something scarier, that he was noble and valiant from the get-go, but Pelna and Nyx had been there when he got the baby claw caught in the plush cheek and always held him to the truth with teasing tones coming from smiling mouths.

 

('It was a fight between _babies!_ ' was what Nyx belted out as a harsh hand landed between the Galahdian's shoulder blades. He'll always find it hilarious, but never mentions it again, unless he's rip-roaringly drunk, or it's Libertus's birthday. Libertus will always pretend to act surly about it, but in the right light, there's a shine of affection that’s visible in his expression.)

 

Crowe has spider webs of pink across the back of her hands when some of her own magic had been reflected back onto her, but she's learned to prefer hiding them under her gloves to keep the sensitive skin safe from breaking again and to keep them warm whenever it was the slightest bit cold out. She isn't the only mage to have scars from this, but she's the only one to draw onto them whenever she's bored; adding branches, vines, and flowers until she's literally elbows deep in art.

 

Pelna has little nicks all over his face and shoulders from so many little things, from flicking his dagger in the wrong direction, to having a pebble catch his face during a warp on a mission. He's a conglomerate of close calls, but always finds a way to laugh it off and joke about how _this one_ on his shoulder looks like a cloud, or how _that one_ on his foot is shaped like a chocobo head. 

 

Luche has scars under his jaw and on his shoulders for getting caught on an undercover mission and tries to hide them in an effort to look more Insomnian, but is still hypocritically sensitive when someone finds his skin-lightning creams and scar fading serums in his bathroom.

 

Tredd only has scars because he's an _idiot_ for trying to shave in the van riding from one mission to the next and he absolutely hates being told what to do, while Axis and Sonitus laugh their asses off on the other end of the van every time they see him flinch with the kukri so close to his throat whenever they hit a bump.

 

Most of the scars they bear can come from missions and little slip-ups, stories that they'll compare and call _theirs_ in a world that tries day in and day out to strip them of who they are behind the military coats they don. Because at the end of the day, the reflection of their skin in the mirror is a metaphor, _a reminder_.

 

_Yes, I was broken and bleeding once, but I was able to pull myself back together when I didn't think it was possible._

 

 

_-_

_-_

 

Libertus didn't believe that the Prince had any scars.

 

Here he was, _a spoilt child_ who probably never had even left the gilded walls of the Citadel unless it was to be paraded around under a crown and in clothing that probably cost more than his annual pay. He wasn't even the obnoxious, loud kind of brat that could have been so easy to detest, but he was silent and reserved. H _is highness_ probably bored out of his mind making decisions that would decide the fates of faceless Galahdians and outsiders like him and his brothers with nonchalant waves of his hands. He's good at hiding his feelings, but also forgets that Prince Noctis isn't Galahdian, nor has he been brought up any other way.

 

He did like Gladiolus though, and not just because this old Lucian family gave the boy a mother of Galahdian descent, but because he bore a line of _courage_ that bisected the skin of his left eye proudly. It went well paired with the boy's more Galahdian hairstyle. He was lucky to have been borne under such a strong family name, to serve the Royal family so closely and get such a mark for doing it without hurting a citizen made him respect the kid. Libertus also caught how Gladiolus was also able to get away with sneaking in the motifs of his mother culture onto his skin, the extensive feathers of the hawk showed Libertus the pride he had of his and his sister's mixed heritage and the willingness he had to protect his charge; regardless if he was a brat.

 

Crowe never saw the Prince's physical scars, but she could see the ones his posture gave away when he thought when no one was looking too closely. The King's magic gave her hypersensitivity to the emotions of other mages; intent always affected outcome when it came to something as delicate as reorganizing the parts of the universe to your whim, and she was sure that was why she had a knack for reading mages like a sign when they tried to be closed books for her. That aside, she had always prided herself in reading emotionally constipated men like a damn road sign. He always had his hands clasped behind him when he was nervous, or would lean against something as if he was trying to protect himself from the back of the neck down. It seemed odd to her for a prince to be trying to watch his back in his own castle, but dismisses it quietly.

 

Pelna is the first one to see it before everyone else, and it's only because he was observant on accident. It was just the beginning of the scar's edges over the small slip of his shirt on the Prince's tank top when he was studying the Prince's warping technique one day. He knows better than to mention it or point it out until he sees it in its entirety, but he can infer from old news articles he's researched (and they were all too young to understand when they came out) that it was something terrible that had almost cost the Kingdom their prince.

 

It is, however, when they walk into the Royal sparring rooms when Drautos had given them permission to use, that they see it.

 

From there, everything comes onto its head.

 

\---

 

It's otherwise only Gladiolus and Prince Noctis, circling through rounds weapons and sparring with a kind of trust and ferocity Nyx had only seen amongst the more seasoned Glaives both on and off the battlefield.

 

It was a complete accident too, something that made what they saw all the more sobering.

 

The Prince's shirt had gotten caught on the edge of Gladio's blunted knife mid-maneuver and the ripping sound that slid through the air made them both (and their unnoticed audience) pause for a minute as the prince fluidly rolled through an almost awkward landing. The Shield's eyes immediately began scanning for red stains as he tried to step closer for further assessment before he pauses. Prince Noctis only waves him off wordlessly and decides to slide the ruined fabric over his head without a second thought, and then that's when Noctis's own pain comes to their sights, and they can't help but be speechless for a minute.

 

It is by no means _small_ , In fact, it's the sheer amount of scar tissue that seemed to make _the Prince_ look smaller in comparison. The main scar was a wide and encompassing, a deep pink-brown line that ran jagged and diagonal from the top of his left shoulder blade to his right hip. It was the center of two thinner, parallel lines that looked to come from the same cause. In the surrounding skin were countless white flecks and tiny nicks that came from healing magic and stretch lines of the skin reknitting itself back together, dusted all over the expanse of purebred pale skin. It rippled and ghosted with the underlying muscles underneath that still worked as the Prince kept sparring, as if it wasn't a big deal that he was wielding some of the most extensive scars that they had ever seen on a living person.

 

But it was probably the fact that he was unaware of his audience that gave the Prince no reason to stop, because he merely dived back in to the round with a smirk on his face and an attempt to catch his partner off guard. Grunts and pads of skin against sparring mat met the ears of the Glaives.

 

Crowe, for her wisdom and survival instincts, knew that it was better to leave than get caught staring at the half-naked Prince. She pulled away from the transfixion of scar tissue reflecting the overhead lights, clasped the shoulders of Nyx and Libertus, which had garnered the attention of Pelna and Luche and ushered them all out, none of them saying a damn word about it until they found themselves at around someone's kitchen counter later that night and eating little seasoned reminders of home.

 

\--

 

"So," Libertus, surprisingly, is the one that starts addressing the adamantoise at the worn table with the weight it surprisingly was due.

 

"What the hell was _that_?"

 

"Whatcha talking about?" Pelna peered over his skewered meat to the man.

 

"You know what, Pel. _The Prince_. How in Inferno did he get that?" Libertus whispered with emphasis as he pursed his lips before taking another sip of his drink, grimacing at the subtle wrongness of the traditional drink's watered down flavor.

 

Libertus hated being wrong, and Nyx was watching the man he considered as a brother let a wave of bitterness wash over his posture, gripping the cup a little tighter in his hand as he mixed it with the bottle of beer he had ordered, all while ignoring the pointed look from the mage across from him.

 

"To be honest, though, that's the biggest one  I've very seen on someone." Crowe paused herself to trace the outline of the little ruby of her uniform with the pads of her fingers in an absent-minded manner.

 

"What do you think could do that? How, even?"

 

An unsettling weight shifted over the table then, each trying to find a bridge in the gap of a truth that they didn't know, trying to find the story behind a story they hadn't realized was walking in front of him the entire time, just _hiding_ in plain sight. It had to have happened before they had come to Insomnia. The Prince was supposed to be the last person to ever even get a scratch on him, and yet they find him bearing _that_.

 

"I... did a little research about it, when I saw just the edges of the scar. It was a demon attack. A Maralith, they called it. I couldn't find that many pictures, but I found descriptions from the Crownsguard who were there that night." Pelna refused to move his eyes from the rim of his cup, took another sip, returned his gaze to his cup, and continued, grimly aware of the attention weighing on him now. He took the nonverbal cue to elaborate, and shifted in his seat before filling the expectant silence.

 

"Who, _survived_ that night." He corrected. The silence wasn't just expectant now, it was mildly horrified. How a short correction like that could demand the attention of several battle-worn soldiers ( _like himself_ ) onto him was almost daunting, but Pelna understood their curiosity and only took another sip before he continued on.

 

"From what I get, the thing's about the size of an adult Cerberus. Basically a woman with swords in each of its six arms at the top, and from the navel down its all demon snake. Reports say the Prince had been travelling separate from his father that night, so he got to leave earlier. By the time the King was on his way back, the demon had killed nearly all of the Prince's guards and the almost the prince. _They had to move the nanny's body to get to him_ , he'd been trapped under her corpse and was half dead himself. Thankfully, the King had been there when he was. He killed it by sending it down a ravine. After that... I only found a lot of medical reports, and from what I can tell, he was in a coma trying to heal.. It also seemed like he had to relearn how to walk again. The dates of those reports... he must've still been a kid- like eight or nine years old."

 

Pelna shook his head after he closed his eyes, and threw his head back with another deep inhale of his drink, ignoring the downcast expressions of his friends.

 

_"Shit."_

 

"Shit is right." Pelna agreed as he finally tilted his chin back to survey the range of expressions before him. There's a weight in the open air surrounding the table now, and Pelna refuses to look anywhere else but at the light reflecting off of the contents in his cup now.

 

"But... he was a child. What kind of monster does that?" Nyx's expression had mixed his emotions to the incredulity now resting on his face, and Luche had stalked closer to the table from the balcony he'd been listening from.

 

(They knew Nyx had lost his sister when she was a kid too; she had been older, but a kid regardless. It probably didn't help that they shared the messy dark hair and blue-eyed combination that sometimes made him take a double take in the right light.)

 

"What do you think, Nyx? The kind of monster that took our homes, that's what. The Niffs probably knew he was a child then and all they probably saw was an easier target." Luche sneered at the mental image it gave him as he poured more beer into his cup.

 

"But.. If he was eight, that means that it was only… What, twelve years ago?"

 

"The King revived the Kingsglaive back fifteen years ago, how come none of us heard of it?" Whenever Crowe was silent, it would only be because it would soon be broken by poking holes into the information presented just like that. She was smarter than what most would give her credit for, making her piercing amber eyes catch both the light and any logical fallacies that crossed her path.

 

"It was probably around the time when Drautos took us to train in Duscae, right?" Libertus shifted his eyes from the food, to the drinks, to his phone again, fingers tapping against the tabletop to avoid grabbing the phone for some internet searches, but wary of whatever his searches might leave him with.

 

"Yeah, and by the time we came back, it must have all blown over, for the most part." Pelna sipped again from the cup, not hiding the bitter taste in his mouth that seemed to be coming from two completely different sources.

 

"The King's visits to the Oracle were most likely to heal the Prince's injuries, and the Nifs probably knew to attack Tenebrae then."   Pelna took another sip after saying his piece but his eye were still following the conversation as Nyx picked up where he left off

 

"He probably blames himself for Tenebrae's fall then, doesn't he?"

 

"Who wouldn't, at that point?" Luche wasn't accusing, but the sharpness in his tone was still present in the enveloping silence.

 

"Who else knew about this?" Crowe looked to Pelna, who still hadn't moved.

 

"Very few, if anyone at all; probably wanted to keep it a secret so no one would think that he's…"

 

"That he's what? Crippled? Incapable?" Tredd's voice was sharper than the settling tension amongst them.

 

"We all know he's not like that-"

 

"-But we all know that something like that would've killed anyone else, and combined with what he probably went through, _as a child_ , they probably didn't want the public constantly reminding him of how the empire nearly…"

 

There was an encompassing silence trailing Libertus's statement like a lost dog would, and it came with the familiarity of the wounds they wanted to avoid themselves.

 

"Hm. So, the Prince was a badass and was hiding it the whole time. Who knew?.... What's with the look, Libs?" Nyx picked up his cup from the countertop and stalked back towards the table, seamlessly sliding in across from Crowe and next to his aforementioned brother in arms.

 

"He's been hiding it though." His voice was almost accusatory, but not quite at the Prince.

 

"He was born and raised _here_ , so what could you expect?" The sound of Crowe's cup hitting the table top punctuated her question.

 

"He's supposed to be a symbol of strength, and Insomnians don't see scars as strength. " The spellcaster elaborated as she swirled her drink and took another sip, as if without a second thought. The atmosphere seemed to dim slightly in the reminder of just how outcasted their livelihoods seemed in contrast: Where something they saw as strength were something the people here saw as weakness.

 

"And it probably wouldn't do anyone favors of constantly reminding him of how he nearly died as a kid, not even on top of how much he probably had to go through to come back from that…" Luche bit into his skewer as he dropped the implication on the proverbial and literal table of conversation. 

 

All it takes at the end of the dinner, long after the conversation shifted to Tredd looking like a damn fool not only a few hours earlier trying to impress a cashier when he was picking up the food, and pulling on Sonitus's leg for his argument on "why they should change the uniform to sheathe the kukris _here_ and not _there_ " did something happen.

 

It was the kind of thing that can only be seen as a spark before it roars into an unstoppable pyre, and it glimmered in Crowe's eyes when she met Nyx's: this was because they each had an idea, and great minds tended to think alike.

 

\---    

Noctis almost took a double-take as he entered the training grounds.

 

Because- _there_ , right in broad daylight of the training court-yard were a majority of the Kingsglaive, stripped down from their armor to basic tank shirts and shorts _-at the most_ , practicing and training as if their state of undress was usual.

 

Granted, the day's heat wasn't optimal for the excess 25 pounds of armor, heavy clothing, and dark coloring of the typically required uniform seen in formal practice, but the extra skin wasn't what caught his eye.

 

No, not in the least, but what was _on_ the skin; all of the imperfections that reflected in the harsh sunlight as they weaved in and out of warping techniques through the pillars and slanted building that made up the practice grounds.

 

He pretended to be focusing on their warp formations, feeling their crystal magic strengthened slightly by his presence as he crossed d his arms and leaned against the pillar to his right, as if it disguised how he was actually transfixed by the sheer amount of skin that were on one singular training ground. He doesn't need to try before he finds himself catching faint lines separating otherwise unmarred skin in between explosions of warping fractals and various landing techniques.

 

It's almost strange to watch, despite watching someone like Nyx still be so cocky when his shirt's off and warping with all those scars are out in the broad daylight. No doubt Drautos or even Ignis would have a heart attack at the sheer impropriety of it all, let alone the idea of the female Glaives wearing tank tops and shorts (Ignis would have likely died at that, Noctis could only have imagined with a smirk as if he was better off fighting a mad blush to not take over his face).

 

His eyes shifted to a pair of Glaives practicing hand-to hand with wooden kukris, watching both their skills, and trying to count how many different scars and bruises they had from his distance when a voice called him from the sight.

 

"Hello, Crowe, how are you?" Noctis was still unsure of how to approach the woman, sure he was her prince and future sovereign, but she was _older_ than him , and _did rules of High Lucian etiquette even apply if he was trying to make friends with them?_

 

"Good day, your highness, is something the matter?"

 

"Uh… maybe?" Well, didn't _that_ come out terrible. Why was he so bad at talking to anyone who was a female? Luna was a female, yes, but he could only talk to her through letters that he could scrap rough drafts and try again on, not like in person. He tried his best not to give the Glaive a creepy once-over, and instead focused on her from the shoulders up, fought another blush from giving away how awkward he felt regardless.

 

"Could you maybe not call me 'highness'? I mean, when it's just me, I don't believe that any extra decorum will- _would_ be necessary." He tried to end his phrasing in a more dignified manner than he had begun with, but the smile tucked away in the Glaive's posture told him that his attempts were in vain regardless.

 

"What would you suggest then?"

 

"Noctis, or just Noct, whichever you- or anyone would prefer." He's already run a couple of missions with them, why not try to establish something here? He ignored the logical protests at the back of his mind and met Crowe's expression with a subtle and matching smile to hers before both of their gazes followed the fractals of warp magic and the sound of metal on metal before them.

 

"Okay then, Noct, something catch your eye then?" She moved in to stand next to him then, also pretending to be focused of summoning form and kukri grips.

 

"Not particularly…but actually, _is this even allowed?_ "

 

"What are you referring to, your Highne- Noctis..?" Her voice was awkward in formulating his name, but the direction of her voice told him she kept looking on.

 

"The uniforms, or rather, the lack of." Noctis looked over to Crowe to gauge a reaction from her, and only found a minute upturn of the edges of her lips.

 

"It's a cultural thing from Galahd, The king approved of it a few days ago-to keep true to some of the roots and values of our respective cultures." Her tone was even and casual, as if assuming it was something Noctis already knew.

 

"Really? Well it seems someone forgot to mention this in my studies…" Crowe's expression slid into a visible smile at the sarcasm, and clasped her hands behind her back as she continued.

 

"It's ok, I wasn't exactly brought up the same as most of them anyways, Libs- uh-"

 

"Libertus?" He casually dropped. He wanted to know his Glaives by their first names, not just as soldiers. Getting both parties on a first name basis would carve out a quicker past to earning their trust.

 

"Right, Libertus. He had to explain it to me why he and some of the others did this. I thought that it was just a thing between him and Nyx, or just Galahdian men in general." Noctis fully turned his body to face her at this point in curiosity.

 

"It's to show off their scars." She broke off her gaze from the training grounds at the last word to catch a flash of something spark behind a royal pair of eyes.

 

"I, uh, didn't realize that they had a cultural significance." Noctis turned to the field again and Crowe found him scanning it for proof supporting what she said, only to see his shoulders stiffening slightly and an extra blink or two of his eyes before he replied back to her.

 

"Could you, perhaps, explain it to me?" Its interest now that pulls at his tone, even though he's trying really hard to hide it under a casual interest. She saw his scars, and straight  through the act he was putting up.

 

"I can try my best, but I believe that the best people to ask would be Nyx or Libertus, I wasn't raised in the same town as they were. They still held value where I came from, but not to the extent that their culture does."

 

"…What kind of value _does_ it hold though?"

 

"Strength, sir." She paused after the last word, both of them.

 

"Strength? Huh…I guess I can see that." He folds his arms in front of him and shifts most of his weight onto one leg before Crowe continues.

 

"According to what I remember Libertus telling me, it's more of a sign that you could survive something that could've killed you or someone weaker. A sign of strength and willingness to sacrifice yourself for the greater good of others." There's a contemplative silence following that, the both of them thinking about the personal relevance to what had just been said.

 

"Sacrificing yourself for others, huh? Essentially, a living and breathing medal of honor?"

 

"…Yes, actually." Her tone told him that he was onto something.

 

"Interesting. It’s a shame that most others don't see it that way." The remark was meant more for himself than anything else, but he had said it out loud and couldn't take it back, but more than anything, it was _exactly_ what she had needed to hear the most.

 

"Many see us differently because of them, most of the time before and after we tell them that we're Kingsglaive."

 

"Really….? Crowe, does that really happen? Because if you, or anyone from the Glaive is experiencing some kind of profiling because of that-"

 

"Oh, no, no, Noctis-sir- it's not exactly like that." Crowe had turned to find him staring at her expression with the intensity she expected from his father. Damn magic eyes almost made her drop her eyes to the floor until he continued.

 

"Then what is it like then, to carry scars of something that was meant to kill you?" His tone was noticeably more careful and softer than what it had been earlier. There was no way, but was he afraid to ask?

 

 _Of course he was_ , she thought, _he's only been taught to be ashamed of it otherwise._

 

She hesitated, knowing to be careful with her next words.

 

"I'm not exactly sure if I can explain it, I've had close calls on the field, but not much to show for it. I honestly don't think anyone does."

 

He snorted, "Yeah, you're probably right, I mean, who'd wanna show some crazy scar that no one would've believed you had lived through?" The rough question hung in the air with both the weight of the truth and the reality she knew that he didn't. Crowe felt the weight of her knowing  something about her prince that he didn't consciously allow her to see; it was beyond doubt an invasion of privacy, but should he come to reveal them once he's learned to trust them, she knows that he'll find a brotherhood here.

 

"Galahdians, that's for sure." She snorted it in a retort as Nyx ended the spar with a flashy maneuver and -she swears to the Six- _flexes_ at them as he holds the training knife to the rookie's throat, but she keeps her lips closed when she notices the shine that the sun gave to the white marks arcing across his chest, making it visible even from there they were standing.

 

"From what I understand, the bigger the scar, the more respect you get from them." It's meant to come off as nothing more than an offhand comment, but the second it left her lips, she knew that he had clung onto it like a lifeline.

 

"Wait- _they do?_ Never mind, of course they do." Crowe couldn't even try to hide a small laugh as the Prince shook his head out of the corner of her eye. He scratches the back of his neck and suddenly she's suddenly hyperaware that it isn't just because he's nervous about talking to an older woman.

 

"So…. Noctis?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"Why do you want us to call you by your name?"

 

"Oh, um. It's no big deal I guess. I guess since everyone's going to be seeing me a lot more around here, I figure that using just my first name would save us a lot of time. Besides, give it two days and everyone, even you, is going to get really sick of ' Your Highness this' and 'Highness that.' I know that you'll remember to do it when my father is around, but if it's only me, I'd prefer it if we just, _didn't_."

 

_Huh._

 

"Besides, if I can get _Ignis_ to call me by my name, why can't you guys?" the obvious counterarguments hung in the air as Crowe tried to _not_ count them all off. She was at reason number eleven by the time she spoke.

 

 

"Well, that’s one thing I get to hold over Nyx. I always knew you preferred your name over your title... Aaaaannnnd speak of the devil." She tilted her head to direct it at the said glaive sauntering over to them.  Nyx at this point of the conversation and nearly grinned at how the Prince seemed to be looking _anywhere but_ his bare torso as he opted to stare directly at his face as he made his way over. The Prince, to give him some credit, didn't even bat an eyelash when the he had finally peacocked over and smiled at them with his fists against the belt of his pants and his chest puffed out before he opened his mouth and said something…regrettable…

 

"So, your highness. How does a night next week sound for you?" Crowe nearly coughed at how… _bad_ that sounded, but the Prince only furrowed his brow and replied faster than she could anticipate or even make one herself.

 

"For what?" He seemed more curious than offended, and Crowe wondered if harassing royalty ended with imminent death.

 

"A drink with some of the Glaive, of course." Nyx had smiled as if the idea was the most normal thing and Crowe wondered if it was possible to warp _other_ people away without using their kukri.

 

"It’s a tradition" Nyx stated, "with every captain of the Kingsglaive, and since you've only recently inherited us, better late than never, right?" The Galahdian is flashing a smile as he goes on and _Crowe wants to die because Nyx no he's our Prince-_

 

"…Every captain of the Glaive? So you're telling me _that Drautos_ did this too?" _Oh Six above was he actually going to agree to this?_ Crowe wondered if the Prince had ever even gotten drunk before and how Pelna-no _, Tredd_ would probably get them all killed.

"We never were able to get him drunk, but yes. If you don't feel comfortable with the idea of it, it's only gonna be a few of us- five or six at the most.  All we do is get drunk and trade some stories and scars. It'd be great if you could bring your bodyguard too. I wanna hear the story behind the one on his face, if he's willing to share it."

 

Neither missed how the Prince straightened a little at word dropping of 'scars', and Crowe almost flinched at how he stiffened during the last bit of Nyx's inquiry. She would throw money that Nyx had seen it too, but never showed any sign of it or even batting an eyelash at the momentary glimpse under the Prince's expression.

 

"It's Gladio, so when does he _not_ want to share it is the real question." Noctis's smile was creeping on the edges of his expression then.

 

"I'm sure he'd probably want to come anyways, but I don't think either of us would drink. Ignis would probably throw a _fit._ " The smile is more prominent now and she sees a victory dance in Nyx's eyes as he returned it to the Prince. It's only a few more minutes of idle chat before Nyx bolts off with the promise of an official day and time by the end of practice and the Prince finally turned to face her.

 

"Is that what he's like on a regular basis?"

 

Her laugh was a snort before she crossed her arms in front of her and leaned against the decrepit pillar with her right shoulder, nearly sighed, and took comfort in the feel of crumbled marble against the bare curve of her shoulder.

 

"It's like this most of the time during practice or after a good mission. He can sometimes be a little more serious… Sometimes.."

 

"I see." Noctis almost seemed intrigued, but more pensive as he also crossed his arms beside her. An almost companionable silence crossed between them; it was at least friendly, but both of them felt it growing into something less based on fealty and more on something outside of that.

 

And true to his word, Nyx came back with a suggested time, and Noctis fiddled with his phone to send two text messages (one to Gladiolus and Ignis because he _would straight-up have a heart attack if he didn't know)_ in record time. Noctis had strict rules by the end of it (Gladiolus must be present, he can't have his phone on silent, and for Six's sake _don't drink too much_ ), but he's otherwise allowed to go and conveyed this to them with a soft smile. Crowe was a mix of unease and elated, but was comforted when she saw Nyx expressing something similar in his eyes.

 

-

 

They both still had no idea about how it was going to end up, but when the night comes and they see Noctis and Gladio at Crowe's front door and the Prince sporting both a shy smile and some takeout of his own. At first, the conversation was stunted small talk with Pelna and Crowe until Gladio turned the conversation by asking what kind of side dishes Libertus was cooking, singlehandedly changing the game entirely. Noctis had no idea how important the preparation of food could be in a culture-or at least, to this man.

 

From then, he sold it by insisting that he's to be called 'just Noctis, please' and asking questions about what Libertus was cooking, going as far as to pass spices and otherwise staying quiet and out of his way. Gladiolus seemed to shine then, receiving a slap on the shoulder by Nyx and grabbing a beer and cracking a joke before sliding in a chair between Pelna and Luche. The atmosphere took its time to eventually settle into something close to comfortable, and by then, the food had been deliciously inhaled by all parties and a sizeable amount of traditional Galahdian beer had been consumed. It started with Libertus wasting no time in asking Gladiolus about the scar on his face and the Amicitia equally taking no time in retelling his favorite story (complete with only a little embellishment that Noctis knew better than to correct him on). He had earned a toast by the end of his story and slaps on his shoulder.

 

They had decided to go on around the table like that on that night, and Noctis had a thought to show the one on his back, but by the time it had gone to him, he had just panicked and rambled a little about an assassination attempt that left a long line on the inside of his left bicep. Some of them had honestly seemed surprised that he even had a scar, so oh, _boy_ did he have one to show them one day when he felt comfortable enough to get around to it. He looked over to Crowe when she had gently touched his forearm and scooted closer to whisper to him while Libertus talked about one on his leg.

 

"If you aren't comfortable talking about a few, don't worry about it, we've all got some like that. And if you don't feel comfortable showing one tonight, there'll be plenty of nights like this in the future." There was something in her eyes that told him she knew _exactly_ what he had been thinking about. He concluded that probably hadn't been the hardest to read then, being lost in his thoughts like that. What was it that his father always said about maintaining composure?

 

"Yeah, maybe next time." He smiled and took a sip from his water bottle. The idea of _future nights like this_ gave him the promise of something he honestly hadn't felt outside from the company of a certain few people. It was the kind of thing that swelled in his chest and almost made it hard to breathe.

 

 _One night_ , he promised himself then _. One night he'd do it._

 

But until then, he sipped from his water bottle, laughed at Nyx's interjection about fighting babies and felt two things at once.

 

He felt strength, and he felt _hope._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Anyone else wondering why we never saw the kingsglaive in those flashbacks where Noctis was attacked in Brotherhood/the movie's prologue???? I am and I am salt  
> According the final fantasy wiki the kingsglaive "was formed 15 years ago". In the main story Noctis is 20 and was attacked by the Maralith when he was 8 years old (so there is a three year period 3 years after the formation of the glaive and before the night that Noct was attacked) I never saw them in that opening flashback NOR in the Brotherhood flashback (but then the men in the suits escorting Noct could possibly have been glaives, but its more likely that they were Crownsguard. My theory is that Drautos had a hand in planning the attack and had some sort of "training exercise B.S." that would take him and the Glaive out of town for a while.


End file.
